Suffered In Silence
by Jameson Rook
Summary: "I would never forget the way that the air smelled in Ireland. It was scented with pine needles, and the faint salty scent of the Irish sea. It was bliss. I was about to turn back into the apartment from my perch on the balcony when I felt the arms wrapping around my chest." Michael McBride's thoughts on his last days in Ireland. Rated for implied adult situations.


_**Disclaimer: Burn Notice and all of its characters belong to Matt Nix and the USA Network. Though...I make no promises about putting Michael away when I'm done playing with him. I may keep him...cause he's adorable. **_

_** So, I don't know if I had mentioned that my cousins from Ireland were visiting, but they were until this morning. **_

_** In that side of my family, the "family business" is...of a similar persuasion to Fi's expertise...and the "family favors" that they need from me always end up with them "borrowing" my '73 Camero while I'm at work. This time, however, they returned my car with a bullet hole in the windshield. Apparently that is one of the hazards of my family. **_

_** Anywho, they have been staying with us all week, and I've been in quite the Ireland mindset, so this little nugget came about. Michael McBride still remains one of my favorite cover IDs that Michael has used (though, Johnny the car thief, and Homer are right up there) and I really wish that the writers would let him use that accent a few times, if for no other reason than to entice Fi. **_

_** I apologize for my rambling. The next chapter of "What We Fight For" will be up probably tomorrow.**_

_ "I'd climb to the highest mountain to the sunrise from your face._

_Light a million candles, to flicker to your name._

_Scream aloud with vengeance with the wind beneath my breath._

_Do you understand the madness? Do you recognize the grace?_

_Love is here, any cloud in the sky, would you be my flushing bride?_

_I don't think so, but I've never met a girl like,_

_I never met a girl like,_

_I never met a girl like,_

_I never met a girl like you before."_

_- "Never Met A Girl Like You Before" Flogging Molly_

I sucked in a deep breath of the crisp Irish air as I looked over quiet town. At that hour in the morning, there weren't many people out and about in Belfast. Even Fiona was still asleep in our bed, the blanket pulled up around her neck and her knees pulled up to her chest. There was the occasional sheep farmer that passed by, an excitable Border Collie trailing behind him, but other than that, I had the entire town to myself.

I could see through the windows of the Black Sands across from the apartment, and wasn't exactly surprised to see that the Glenanne boys were still hunched over the bar, laughing over Guinness pints. I shook my head and turned to where the sun was beginning to crest the horizon.

I would never forget the way that the air smelled in Ireland. It was scented with pine needles, and the faint salty scent of the Irish sea. It was bliss. I was about to turn back into the apartment from my perch on the balcony when I felt the arms wrapping around my chest. Fiona's head settled on my bare back and I covered her hands with mine.

"What are you doing awake, love?" I questioned softly, afraid that if I spoke too loudly it would wake the sleepy town.

"Mmm it's too cold in there without ya. Come back to bed, Michael." She replied, her lips moving against my shoulder blade. That sleepy Irish brogue was, quite possibly, the sexiest thing that I had ever experienced. I turned in her arms and was, once again, proven wrong. The woman in front of me, with her hair messy from sleep and her eyes half open was even more intoxicating than her voice. She quirked an eyebrow at me curiously. "What's wrong? You're lookin' at me awfully funny."

"I just think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Fi." I whispered, leaning down and brushing my nose over hers. Fiona's eyes warmed and she slid her hands down my back to my hips, pulling me inside the apartment from the balcony. Her warm fingers skittered over my chilled skin, causing a shiver to run through my body. "I love you, Fiona Glenanne." I stated, my teeth grazing over the contour of her jawline. Her body froze beneath my hands and I allowed my forehead to drop to her shoulder, sure that I had messed everything up with three words.

Her finger hooked under my chin, bringing my eyes back to her. I couldn't help but wince at the confusion that I saw there. Her hand cupped my cheek, brushing over the cheek bone before burying her fingers in my hair.

"Do ya mean that?" She questioned and I let out the breath I didn't know that I had been holding.

"Of course I mean that." I murmured, kissing her softly and holding her against me. "What on Earth have you done to me, lass? You're positively bewitchin'." I chuckled, pulling her even closer and dipping her backwards, swallowing the shocked squeal she let out with another kiss.

My hands slipped under, what I recogonized as my own, sweater that she wore and skittered over her ribs. The ridges of scars that marred her skin were rough under my fingers and I winced as I encountered each new one.

"What's wrong, Michael?" She whispered, running her hands over my face and brushing the slight curls of my bangs off of my forehead.

"You're scars. Ya have so many of them, love." My voice was low and gravely as I grabbed the hem of the shirt and tugged it over her head. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I laid her out in the middle of the sapphire colored comforter, her dark hair forming a halo around her head as she watched me through curious, tired eyes. I leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to one particularly large scar, just below her collar bone.

"Where'd ya get this one?" I murmured, glancing up at her but keeping my lips on her skin.

"We had an op that went bad. Caught a piece of glass when the store window blew out." She replied, her Irish lilt flowing easily off her lips as she stroked my hair with her slender fingers.

"An' this one?" I moved to a deep scar just below her rib cage.

"Switchblade. Guy thought he could pull a fas' one on me. I broke his wrist if it makes ya feel any better." She chuckled, the sound rumbling through her torso and against my lips. My gut twinged at the thought of someone harming Fiona.

"I woulda done a mite worse to tha' bastard." I growled, my teeth grazing the soft skin just below her belly button. "No one hurts you and gets away wit' it." She tugged gently on my hair, pulling me back enough so that she could look me in the eye.

"I can take care of me'self, Michael."

"I know ya can, Fi. But I _like_ taking care of ya. Makes me feel important." I replied, kissing the side of her neck softly. She groaned quietly as I shimmied out of my sweatpants and settled between her legs. The world seemed to fall away as I focused on nothing but making love to the beautiful, frustrating, enigmatic, amazing Irish devil beneath me.

The next few hours were spent with me worshipping her body as if it were water in the middle of the desert. When we lay, spent and sated, against one another, I couldn't seem to quell the hollow ache in the pit of my stomach. I listened to her even breaths as she slept and stared at the ceiling, the sun fully up and streaming through the balcony door.

How the hell was I supposed to leave someone like her? There are some moments in our life, defining moments, that shake us to our very core and shape the foundation of who we are. They are few and far between, but you don't let them pass you by when they come about. I had one of these moments the first time I stood up to my father and kept him from beating Nate and Mom. I had one the first time that I swore into the Army at seventeen, and I had one the day that the CIA had hired me for my first job.

However, the most important defining moment of my life was the day that I met Fiona Glenanne. I had never met another woman like her, and now, I had to walk away as if everything that we had was some convoluted dream that neither of us were supposed to remember.

The last day that I spent with Fiona was far too short, and was spent browsing through shops for her new pair of shoes that she couldn't seem to decide on. It was wrong. All of it. I should have spent the time that we had together showing her every way that I loved her. Showing her how much I wanted to stay with her. I wanted her. Just her. For the rest of my life.

But, that night, while I stood over the stove cooking her dinner, knowing that I was going to have to walk out the apartment in the middle of the night and leave her to grieve with no one to help her, I couldn't help but hate everything that I had become. I was going to lose my Fiona. Forever. And there was not a damned thing that I could do but suffer in silence.


End file.
